


knives in the backs of martyrs

by elliptical



Series: unbecoming jordan hennessy [2]
Category: Dreamer Trilogy - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Codependency, Gen, Hennessy Is Her Own Content Warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:55:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28058028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliptical/pseuds/elliptical
Summary: “Don’t judge me,” June added, more caustic than she intended.  “You’d go if you could.”Jordan flinched.
Relationships: June (Dreamer Trilogy) & Jordan (Dreamer Trilogy)
Series: unbecoming jordan hennessy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052732
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	knives in the backs of martyrs

June’s existence cemented Jordan Hennessy’s terminal diagnosis.

She awoke in their London home with Hennessy’s arms locked tight around her, but she couldn’t recall their shared dream. As she lay in that comfortable bed under the soft patchwork quilt with the hand-sewn rainbows, she believed that Hennessy had pulled her out to protect her. This world was safer than the one she’d left, she was sure, though she didn’t know how.

Later, much later, she concluded that Hennessy had shielded herself from the threat with June’s body. The removal bordered on coincidence. June had been nothing in this equation. It was all Hennessy, Hennessy avoiding harm and saying _fuck the consequences,_ like she always did.

(By the time June realized that, there was no way to escape unscarred. Hennessy was nothing to her, not anymore, but Jordan was heartbroken and Farrah’s brains were splattered so close to the ceiling that June needed a stepladder to clean them and Alba’s white ribcage had poked through her sternum when they pulled her body from the car and nobody could keep their shit together and-

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. None of it would ever, ever matter.)

The first time that June examined her options was when she planned their move to the States. Bill wouldn’t listen to Hennessy’s whining protests or her chaotic temper tantrums, and Jordan was busy watering down Bill’s whiskey when Hennessy stole too much to explain, so planning their impossible caper fell to June.

If this was an adventure story, the process would have been enjoyable. Fantastic. Inspirational.

Unfortunately, this was the real world, where narratives were carved in sweat and blood and power and currency, and where power and currency were often the same thing.

June was good at the planning, though, in a way that both surprised and pleased her. Jordan and Hennessy could both excel in strategic maneuvering if they weren’t so wrapped up in their feelings and their fears and each other. Since June’s feelings were worthless to the group, she set them aside to focus on the analytical. She was probably the only one who would ever focus on the analytical. She’d carved her role at the cost of her emotions; she was now Indispensable, with a capital _I._

She procured fake IDs for herself and Jordan, using the “emergency cash” Bill left whenever he vanished to chase his latest whim. Carefully, over several weeks, June stole enough money from Bill’s bank account to purchase another international flight.

Then she fucked it all up by making a transaction using a VPN, which caused the bank to notify the account holder of suspicious activity. Bill changed his online banking information. June could have learned the new details, but any continued interference would have tipped Bill off to the source. At least, that was the worst case scenario. In actuality, he’d probably be too apathetic to assemble the puzzle.

“I could stay here,” June offered. “Make my way on the streets.” It was not an appealing option, then, but it was more appealing than most quick-cash alternatives. She’d contacted the less savory underbelly of the city; she’d gotten the IDs from some scary-ass people, because she didn’t trust random teenagers with a photocopier. She’d learned more about London’s hidden hiding places than Hennessy or Jordan could fathom. She knew where to find places to sleep, places to stay. She knew how to pick unsavory individuals out from the crowd. She’d learned.

Or so she hoped.

“No,” Jordan said, in a firm tone that brooked no argument. “You’re coming. We’ll find a way.”

“And if there’s not?” June challenged.

“We’ll _find a way._ ”

“You got the IDs,” Hennessy said, turning to June. “Prime fucking sleuth material. Help me find a job.”

“Right, we’ll save up by mowing _lawns_ -”

“Not that kind of job, moron,” Hennessy said impatiently. “The kind of job that _pays._ ”

June had an inkling of what she meant, but Jordan’s confusion propelled the conversation forward.

“God, I shouldn’t need to spell it out,” Hennessy said, rolling her eyes. “We’re young. We’re pretty. We’re an untouchable species. There are people out there who want to touch. I’ll do the deed since you’re both so fucking squeamish.”

They were thirteen years old.

“No.” Jordan was more appalled by the suggestion than June. It was clear that she’d pitch a giant fucking shitfit if Hennessy didn’t abandon the plot. “That’s not the answer. We’ll - we’ll sell Jay’s art.”

“You think we’re just going to _find_ a few unpawned pieces lying around the garage?” June said incredulously.

“We might as well take a look-”

Hennessy cut in, sly, “We could always _discover_ more of her work.”

This didn’t move June. “Bitch, _where?_ Everything’s locked up in galleries and auction houses. You want to plan a heist? I like the style. We don’t have the fucking _time._ ”

Hennessy huffed, exasperated, as though June was being stupid on purpose. “I can mimic her style.” A pause, and then she smiled, and her eyes were frostbitten. “She was an _excellent_ teacher.”

So that was how the forgery began. Of course, it blossomed into something bigger as the years passed. June managed the customer relationships and the books and the client outreach. Hennessy made the product, a job that occupied most of her time. And Jordan held both Hennessy and June back by the scruffs of their necks, to prevent them from doing something reckless enough to ruin everything.

It was years and multiple buried bodies later that Jordan found June chainsmoking on the roof of the abandoned mansion. 

June’s straightened hair separated her from the others, now. She was the only one who used Jordan Hennessy’s official identification, because she was the only one willing to work a nine-to-five. _Wanting_ to work a nine-to-five. She’d opened her own secret bank account to fill with paycheck after paycheck, following the same plan from when she’d organized their move years before. Hennessy might find out, but June wouldn’t be the one to tell her. Eventually she’d have enough stability for a down payment on an apartment, and she’d have a car with a title in Jordan Hennessy’s name, and she’d leave all this filth and rot behind her, and good _fucking_ riddance.

“You’re leaving, yeah?” Jordan said.

June shrugged.

Jordan nodded, as if she’d replied. “When?”

June exhaled a long cloud of smoke. No point in concealing it. “Someday.”

“Someday soon?”

“Don’t know.”

June had planned her steps before she opened the account. She needed to amass eight thousand dollars before she escaped. That covered first and last month’s rent, a security deposit, a shitty broken-down car, a storage locker, and a lot of takeout. Maybe a pet deposit, too - she wanted a cat. Something warm to twine around her ankles when the loneliness encroached. Something that purred and nuzzled her and loved her just because she cared for it.

Her account was nearing the 8,500 mark now. She had not yet finalized her departure date. She had not even begun to examine potential time frames. 

She wasn’t sure what was stopping her.

“Don’t judge me,” June added, more caustic than she intended. “You’d go if you could.”

Jordan flinched. June turned her face away, sick with guilt and simmering with anger. By all accounts, Jordan was the one with the right to the identity. Jordan was the one with the actual name, the one who could survive the world, the one who wanted to be her own person. But Jordan had washed her hands of her potential so many times. She’d never leave Hennessy’s side. 

It was an illness, maybe. A more severe version of whatever rooted June’s feet to this godforsaken place.

It wasn’t June’s _fault._

“Will you tell me, before you go?” Jordan asked, and the hurt came through despite her best attempts at masking. June felt the pain like a stab wound. “Will you let me say goodbye?”

“Will you make me stay?”

“No.” That answer came fast enough for June to believe it - even to believe the lack of hesitation. For all that Jordan pretended to be Hennessy, the two women were not the same. Hennessy, June was sure, would have more reservations. That was, if Hennessy ever let her go at all.

“You’re right,” Jordan added. At June’s quizzical glance, she said, “I _would_ go if I could.”

“You could come with me.” June was surprised, as she said it, to find that the offer was genuine. Of everyone in this fucked-up place, Jordan was the one she’d most miss. Jordan’s support was a warm comfort that June often took for granted. Poaching her was selfish, sure, but selfishness ran through every Hennessy’s veins, and these days June was too damn tired to suppress her own. 

A double identity wouldn’t be the easiest to maintain, of course. But it _would_ be simpler than their current setup. The idea bloomed inside her mind: a new potential path, a game of strategy, a way to shake the stagnation.

“You and I, we could both get out of here,” she said earnestly. “Go wherever we want. Piss off into oblivion for - for the time we’ve got left. However long that is.”

Jordan smiled the same sad smile they all did just before they cried; June recognized the expression immediately, mental flashes of her own face in the mirror. She couldn’t remember when Jordan had last cried in front of her. She couldn’t remember whether Jordan cried at all.

Jordan pulled a cigarette from the pack in June’s hand and lit up. June had thought she’d quit - or at least, Jordan had said she’d quit - but apparently desperate times called for self-destructive measures. 

Fair enough.

“We could do it,” June repeated, begging Jordan to break her silence, to smash the growing wall between them. “We could get out.”

“No,” Jordan said, taking a long drag. She shook her head and laughed, softly, gently. The stark hopelessness gutted June to bone. “No,” she repeated, more contemplative than emphatic. “Oh, God, I wish. You don’t know how I... but no. No. No, I really couldn’t.”


End file.
